Not His Problem
by Joanne Novak
Summary: *Spoilers for season 5* "In fact, no one upstairs seemed to care, not even God himself. God, who could have stopped it all, didn't care. And that left Dean Winchester all alone, sitting cross-legged on top of the spot of grass that acted as his brother's unmarked grave." In which Dean visits Sam's unofficial grave and reflects on the God that could have prevented it all.


_**A/N: Whoa, a Supernatural fanfiction! By me! :D I finished all of the episodes on Netflix last night and watched some on Hulu today, so now I'm only two episodes away from being completely caught up. I started watching this show a month ago, guys, haha. Anyway, forgive me if this oneshot is really crappy. It's 11:30 at night. That'll be my excuse. But please let me know what you think, so I can edit it later and make it better. :) Thanks!**_

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The cemetery was filled with markers; rows upon rows of them, with the names of the dead on their faces, so that any one visitor would be able to find who they were looking for. Visitors would walk through the rows, glancing at the names, until they stood directly above that one person – or, on top of, to be more precise. Not that that particular person would mind, of course. Being dead and six feet under, would anyone even realize that they had visitors? Cemeteries, coffins, funerals – they really are not for the dead. They're for the living; because, somehow, it makes people feel better to stand over the remains of their loved ones and talk, as if that particular person could hear them better if they were closer to the grave. As if that particular person could hear them at all.

None of it really made much sense, as Dean Winchester sat cross-legged on top of an unmarked patch of overgrown grass. He remembered a time – maybe four years ago? Five? – when Sam had insisted on visiting their mother's grave, in spite of the fact that there wasn't even a body. All Sam had visited was a slab of stone with her name on it, and yet he spent close to ten minutes there, and returned without his dog tags. Metaphorically, he'd given the tags to their mother. Technically, he'd given them to the dirt. It didn't even seem to matter to a twenty two year old Sam Winchester.

Dean was beginning to understand that feeling, that closeness. That's why he was there, wasn't it? There wasn't a body buried six feet underneath him. There wasn't a body at all. What there was, however, was the grass that was sticking up in between his fingers. There was the grass being pushed down underneath his hand. And there were the rings of the three Horsemen that had been left behind, in between the grass and his palm, marking that one spot that Dean couldn't forget.

The door to Lucifer's cage, the door that Sam had fallen through, had no other marker. No one visitor was going to walk through the rows and take a single glance at this spot and think, "That's where Sam Winchester died. He was twenty six years old, and he threw himself into Hell to help stop the Apocalypse."

That's exactly why Dean was there. _Someone_ had to remember Sam Winchester. Someone had to remember that this wasn't just a spot of unmarked grass.

It was the spot where Sam fixed his biggest mistake; and it was the spot where he cleaned up the angels' mess.

The angels, who were absolutely nothing like Dean had imagined them to be. The angels, who, instead of being the divine, do-no-wrong saints that they were supposed to be, were pushing for the Apocalypse that would destroy the planet. The angels that just didn't care.

In fact, no one upstairs seemed to care, not even God himself. God, who could have stopped it all, didn't care.

And that left Dean Winchester all alone, sitting cross-legged on top of the spot of grass that acted as his brother's unmarked grave.

Dean lifted his hand from the grass, leaving the rings in the palm of his new handprint. Then, deciding that didn't look quite right, he picked the rings up, closed his fingers around them, and brought both of his hands into his lap.

He took a deep breath and sighed, dropping his head for just a second.

"He prayed to you, you know," he said, narrowing his eyes at the ground. "Every night, he prayed. And see, I thought he was crazy. Because after all we'd been through, all the crap that was thrown at us, he still believed there was someone upstairs that still cared. But no."

Dean took a pause as he pushed himself up onto his feet and stared up at the grey sky. He began to raise his voice.

"No, not even the _big man upstairs_ cared! But he still believed in you! He still prayed to you! He had _faith_ in you! And this is how you thank him?"

Tears began to slowly fall down his face, but he kept going, his voice getting louder and louder.

"He was willing to give everything to save your world! And for that, he's stuck in Lucifer's cage. Is that how you operate? You take all the good people in the world, and you make them suffer? Some god you are! What happened to the whole "God will protect his children" thing, huh?"

Dean ran his other hand across his face, wiping away the tear tracks, and took another deep breath.

"So now everything's been taken from me, right? First it was my mom, the woman who always said that angels were watching over us. The woman who believed in you right from the start, the woman who was filled to the brim with faith. Next it was my dad, the one who loved her so much. The one who loved _us_ so much, and devoted his life to keeping this world a little safer. Then it was me, getting thrown into Hell. And now it's Sam. And you could have stopped it all.

"Well, you know what? _I'm_ going to stop it. Because I'm not just going to give up on Sam like you did. You haven't seen the last of the Winchester brothers, you hear me? Because I'll find a way, you mark my words. I'm going to find a way to get Sammy out of that cage, and everything's going to go back to the way it was. Everything's going to be okay. And you better _pray to yourself_ that I never run into you, ever. Because I swear that if I do, it's not going to be Death that finally kills God."

Dean opened his hand and took a long look at the rings that were still attached to each other – and then he threw them, as hard as he could, towards the rows upon rows of grave markers.

"It's going to be Dean Winchester."

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_**So how'd I do? Thanks for reading! :D**_


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